


Dodgeball

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Crack, High School AU, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6613954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disgraced by Optimus Primal, Megatron seeks his revenge in the only school-appropriate way he knows.  Let the Beast Wars begin!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Megatron, Disgraced

**Author's Note:**

> Because you can never have too many HS AUs. Needless to say, this is pure crack.  
> Some of those tags may change later on.

Megatron loved being the center of attention.  He loved watching the time tick down on the big clock 9, 8, 7, counting the seconds to their victory.  It was close enough to taste, intoxicating.  He could see Optimus, several yards ahead of him, wide open.  This was his time to shine, the moment that would go down in history.  There was no time to savor it.  It was do or die.

Megatron threw the ball.

The vicious growl of the buzzer rang out, signaling the games end, and there on the ground, mere inches away from the end zone lay the ball, fumbled and cast aside by the one mech he'd trusted most, and with it, all of his dreams.  They had lost – the game, their shot at nationals, any hope of being scouted to bigger and better teams.  As a senior in high school, Megatron's life was over.  And he knew just who to blame.

Optimus Primal would live to rue this day.

~~~

The hot water beat down on Megatron's plating, bouncing off with a soft patter before cascading to the floor.  It was a good sound.  He could lose himself in that sound – forget the pain and misery of his continued existence.  This was his solitude.  This was his peace.  This was his shower of angst, and nothing would pull him from this moment.

Save, of course, for the creaking of joints beside him.

His head snapped up, optics averted from the whirl of water trickling down the drain, and locking onto the mech who dare interrupt his brooding.  Red optics greeted him right back, not to mention, a doofy face, and enough fur that he should have been forbidden from using public showers altogether.  That stuff clogged the drains like nothing else.

Optimus Primal!  Only _he_ would have the audacity to intrude on a moment so sacred.

Megatron leapt away, nearly slipping on the wet tile of the floor, and Optimus, startled, scrambled backwards.

"You!"  There was fire in Megatron's eyes as he roared, albeit, in a manner that was wholly dignified.  He was not the type of person to lose his cool.  No.  Not even a little . . .

Well maybe just this once.

"Why are you shouting, Megatron?  I've _been_ here.  We played a hard game out there.  I'm gross.  I'm going to shower."

But Megatron heard no reason in those words.  All Megatron heard was that horrible buzzer, echoing in his head, laughing at his defeat.  He would not stand to be mocked!

"You've done it, Optimus _Primal_.  You've ruined everything I've ever worked for.  I do hope you're proud of yourself, because you have made yourself a powerful enemy in doing so, yes."

"What are you talking about?  Enemy?  Megatron, it was just a game.  It was an honest mistake.  Even professionals fail sometimes."

"Not me.  I never fail.  But you, Primal, you are a colossal failure, and I will never forgive that."  He lunged forward, making to tackle Primal to the ground, but that stupid gorilla stood strong.  And there they were, two young mechs, naked and angry and grappling in the steamy downpour of the showers.  It might've been erotic if they didn't hate each other so much . . . That was to say, Megatron definitely found nothing erotic about this situation.  If anyone did, it was Optimus.  _Obviously . . ._

"Cease with this madness at once."  An invisible force latched on to Megatron's shoulder, dragging him away, and another did the same to Optimus.  He was never going to get used to the insubstantial alien race that had taken up the position of school supervisors.  The Vok were a brutal bunch when they wanted to be.  Megatron didn't feel like pushing his luck tonight.  He stood down, and Optimus did the same.

"Detention for both of you!  You know better than to behave in such a way.  You are nearly grown bots, not – not whatever you creatures start out as.  Protoforms?"

"That's it," Optimus acknowledged, earning the a flash of wrath in the skull-like face of the wraith before them.  Idiot.

"You will report to study hall all of next week after classes.  Is that understood?"

"What right have you to command _me_ , the great Megatron – son of Megatron, leader of the Predacons?" was what Megatron _wanted_ to say.  It's what he _would_ have said if he was a complete idiot.  Instead, he offered an enthusiastic, "Yes Sir," in time with Optimus's.

Under the watchful eye of the Vok, Megatron and Optimus were allowed to get dressed, before being escorted from the locker room.  What none of them saw, however, were vivid yellow optics watching the scene unfold from the ceiling, and then, menacing chuckles.  Somebody was about to do something positively devious.

~~~

"I can't believe you picked a fight with Primal in the locker room!  Where's the honor in that?!" Dinobot snarled.  That sound coming from any other mech would have meant anger, but Megatron had come to learn that it was just how Dinobot talked.  The fact that he was constantly angry may have also factored in.

"I have no need for such concepts as 'honor,'" he grinned, stopping in the middle of the crowded hallway and dragging Dinobot with him, flirtatiously slamming the smaller mech up against a locker, and leaning down to bite at his lower lip.

With another snarl, Dinobot rolled his optics and pushed Megatron away.  "Clearly."  He stomped on ahead another several feet, before ducking into the doorway of a disused classroom, and Megatron followed gleefully.  He knew what was coming next.

They were the school's power couple – always together, making out in the hallways, winning Homecoming royalty, and being unholy terrors.   Anyone to lay eyes on Dinobot in a less than untoward way, was apt to find themselves bolted to the flagpole by the end of the day, and Dinobot was equally jealous, whispering threats into the ears and audials of any who dared to lust after his Megatron. 

On an unrelated note, he _really_ hated Optimus Primal, though Megatron never could figure out why.  As best he could tell, Optimus remained uninterested in him.  It was almost insulting!  Was he not a fine piece of aft?  Of course he was!  Primal was just a blind idiot.

Sharp teeth dug into his lips, dragging Megatron back to the moment with a pleased hiss.  "Oh, I do so love when you do that, yes," he said, gazing down at his smaller boyfriend, and rubbing at the energon that now trailed down his chin.

"Call it a taste of things to come," Dinobot smiled, before stepping back out into the hall and disappearing into the crowd.  Megatron made to follow, but something held him back, an EM field, tickling the very edges of his own, like a whisper.

_"Come and play."_

It came from inside the classroom.  Curious, Megatron opened the door and peered inside.

Empty desks stared back at him from the dimly-lit room.  There was no one there.  It nearly felt like walking into a horror movie.  But Megatron had never been fond of such things.  On one desk in the center aisle, sat a scrap of paper, doodled on in purple crayon.  It was the only sign of life in this otherwise forgotten space.  Curious, Megatron picked up the sheet.

On its surface was scratched a crude drawing of a purple tyrannosaurus using his comically small arms to lob a ball at an equally purple gorilla, who's head had apparently been knocked off in the process, if the copious amounts of purple blood gushing from his empty neck was any indication.  Megatron's lips twisted upwards at the sight, and he gave a chuckle, despite himself.

"What are you doing in here?" hissed a voice, deep and alien and filled with the sort of scorn found only in the sort of bitter adult with a dead end job and a wasted youth could hold.  Leave it to the Vok to ruin a good thing.

"I was just leaving," Megatron said, pocketing the doodle for future viewing pleasure.

"Watch yourself, Megatron.  You're already on thin ice.  If you're not careful, your father will be getting a call."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll behave."  He said, casually waving off the alien-creature as he walked by.  He had to get to class anyway.  Nothing could be more exciting than Language Arts with Ultra Magnus.

~~~

It didn't take Megatron long at all to learn the meaning behind the cryptic message.  One week passed – one week in which he was forced to endure the presence of that treacherous gorilla, all under the watchful eye of the Vok.  Detention had been hell, but when the silence had become too oppressive, and the boredom too intense, Megatronus would pull out the doodle, hidden in with the rest of his homework, and get a giggle or two out of imagining himself actually decapitating Optimus Primal with a ball.  It would be glorious.

But finally, detention had passed, and his evenings belonged to him once more.  He'd have time to get busy with Dinobot before basketblasterball season began. 

But basketblasterball season never _would_ begin for Megatron.  There was something far more devious in store for him.

He stood, waiting by the flagpole for Dinobot's arrival.  The bastard was late, which was unusual, but not surprisingly so.  Megatron would punish him later.  With dinner, and a movie, and chains.  Yes. 

In the meantime, he scanned the crowd, eyes peeled for any sign of mauve scales, or that stupid leather jacket he'd taken to wearing.  What he found instead, was a rather devious-looking purple spider kid, wearing a dirty school hoodie and hanging upside down from the flagpole, right beside his face.  Were Megatron the type to startle easily, he would've let out an undignified squawk and leapt away.  Instead, he cocked an optic ridge, wearing an unimpressed frown, and said, "What is it that you are doing?"

The spider giggled like a maniac.  Megatron grabbed him, yanked him from the pole, and tossed him on the ground.  He didn't giggle after that.

"Was that really necessary?!"

"Hmm, I do believe it was, yes.  You have no manners to speak of, dangling upside down from a flag pole.  There are easier ways to get my attention."

"Those accursed Vok keep getting in my way every time I try."

"Perhaps," Megatron said, stroking his chin, "if you tried to get my attention without the cannibalistic serial killer vibes, you'd have better luck.  I did enjoy the pictures, however."

"Ah, thank you.  I always did fancy myself an artist," the spider said, crawling back to his feet.  "But more importantly, did you get the message?"

"Message?" Megatron repeated, curious.  "All I've gathered is that you're a rather repulsive little insect –"

"Arachnid," the spider corrected, matter of fact.

" _Insect_ ," Megatron responded, stubborn and cruel.  _No one_ corrected him.  "Who rather fancies me.  I regret to inform you that I am taken, and you are also a bit gross for my taste . . . I do fancy your funny little mouth, perhaps, but no.  I'm afraid I must reject you . . . at least publicly.  But perhaps an arrangement can be made.  Tell me, how desperate are you?"

Yellow optics narrowed, in fear and repulsion.  "What?!  That's not what I meant at all!"

"It's not?" Megatron said, suddenly sheepish.  "In that case, forget everything that I just said."  He turned away, surveying the crowd for Dinobot.  Nothing.  It was for the better.  The bot would _not_ have appreciated that shameful display.  But now his curiosity was piqued.  Without turning back to the spider, he added, "What then, did you mean?"

Perhaps it had been a mistake not to look.  He could feel the scruffy little bug behind him, pressing close, running his nasty, gnarled claws down the back of Megatron's Letterman's jacket (he was going to have to wash it now).  The action was predatory, and had Megatron been smaller, weaker, or less of a stubborn asshole, he might have been intimidated.  Even so, he was a little wary.

"I want you to _come and play_ with me."

"Play?" Megatron said, turning at last.  "Play what?  That better not be a euphemism for S&M."  He paused, reconsidering his words.  "Actually, that _better_ be a euphemism for S &M."

"Dodgeball, you twit!" the spider snapped, clearly irritated.

Dodgeball?  That was too absurd.  He couldn't hold back the laughter that sprang forth from him.  "You must be joking!  _Dodgeball_?  That's a child's game for protoforms to play!  I only play grownup sports – like Autoball, and Predacroquet!"

The spider folded his arms, frowning – or at least, that's what Megatron imagined he was doing.  He didn't really have the mouth for normal expressions.  "I'll have you know that dodgeball is both a highly sophisticated and brutal sport."

"All you do is throw a ball," Megatron scoffed.  "There aren't even any nets or anything."

"Perhaps," the spider conceded.  "And that might be a detriment, if the point of the game was actually to win.  But it's not."

He'd heard enough.  Megatron turned his back on the spider, and began strutting off.  Evidently, he was being stood up.  It was time to hunt down Dinobot.

"Wait, where are you going?!" the pitter patter of little claws scurrying across the pavement followed Megatron.  Great.  He was one of those _stubborn_ fans – the ones who couldn't take a hint.

"Megatron only plays games to win.  Do not waste my time with such blasphemies."

"You didn't let me finish," the exasperated voice called out from behind him.  "The point of dodgeball is not to win, but to completely and utterly brutalize your opponent."

Megatron stopped.  That sounded promising.  "Brutalize?"

"Yes," the spider explained.  "You're angry at Primal, the whole school knows that.  But you can't beat him up without those pesky Vok stepping in.  However, dodgeball is violence that is administration-approved.  Imagine being able to pummel Optimus Primal to your spark's content, with no one to stop you!"

And so Megatron did.  The doodle was a helpful base from which to grow.  With his superior arm strength, he would throw the ball – pelt that goody-two-shoes Primal so hard that his head popped  off, and he would bathe in the mech's fluids.  What a grand vision!

But all was not well.

"Dodgeball is a team sport.  I want to fight Optimus one-on-one.  I don't want any pesky little nerds, or Primus forbid, _freshmen_ to get in the way of my well-deserved revenge."

The spider shrugged.  "Yes well, if you've got a better idea, you're welcome to it.  But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"What, at the flagpole?"

"Yes!" he hissed, before turning tail and skittering up the flagpole and out of the conversation.

It was quite an odd conversation, but Megatron couldn't say it hadn't been entertaining.  And they'd parted with not a moment to spare.  There, the crest of his helm peaking above the crowd, was Dinobot, _at last_.  What the frag had taken him so long?

Just as he made to confront the little bastard, a slip of paper drifted down from on high.  He caught it between his thick fingers.

On it, was a comm frequency, a crude drawing of Optimus's bleeding, dismembered head that should have been creepy, but was somehow cute, and a name:

_Tarantulas._

Perhaps this was something worth looking into.

 


	2. Optimus, Intrigued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus finds himself intrigued by this strange invitation to play a game of . . . dodgeball?

Optimus Primal was a good student.  Optimus Primal was popular.  Optimus Primal was smart and athletic, well-spoken, beloved by his peers and teachers alike, he even already had a full-ride to the University of Cybertron.  His  life was set.  Smooth sailing and hella babes from here on in. 

And yet, he somehow could not let go of the feeling of foreboding that hung over his head, as though the bubble was about to burst at any moment.  As though his whole life was about to come crumbling down at the slightest provocation.  As though someone – someone very purple, someone very tall, someone with a sexy smooth voice and a penchant for roller skating, had it in for him.  Just a hunch. 

 As usual, he was right.

Megatron had laid low for an entire week after their detention, which was unusual in itself.  Optimus had known him since elementary school.  Megatron did not let a grudge die so easily; this much he knew.  And also that Megatron had a grudge on him.  It was Megatron; Optimus couldn't say he was surprised.  The mech was always looking for an excuse to declare war. 

In kindergarten, it had been for using the purple crayon.  Only _Megatron_ could use the purple crayon.   _Get your own damn crayon, Optimus!_

In the third grade, it was  Optimus accidentally sitting on Megatron's invisible friend, Dinobot VII.  Dinobot VII did not survive the encounter.

  Eighth grade had been Optimus getting the first waffle of the morning at summer camp, less for the loss of the sweet, succulent waffle, and more for violating the sacred power of 'dibs.' 

Last year had been the incident with the Winnebago. 

It was practically the mech's hobby to hate on Optimus.  If Optimus didn't know any better, he'd say the mech was obsessed.  Actually, that probably wasn't so far from the truth.  Ugh.

Their tumultuous history was doomed to repeat itself; it was only a matter of time.  And thus, Optimus was unsurprised when one day, as he strode out of history class with his best friend, Rhinox, by his side, Megatron charged up to him, a fire in his optics the likes of which Optimus had never before witnessed. 

He stared at Optimus.

Optimus stared at him.

Rhinox stared at them both.

Rhinox shook his head.

Optimus stared at Megatron.

And finally, once the meaningful stare quota had been reached, Megatron got down to the true purpose of his visit, thrusting a flier into Optimus's surprised hands, and then charging off into the abyss, cackling like an oversized purple dinosaur.

. . . .

What in the world had _that_ been?

"What did you do to piss him off _this_ time?" Rhinox grumbled, walking ahead to clear the doorway for those behind him.  Rhinox was a very thoughtful mech.  Optimus wished that he were as thoughtful as Rhinox.  Then perhaps Megatron would not be so interested in him.  If only.

"I don't know," Optimus sighed, steeling his tanks.  It was time to take a gander at Megatron's flier.  It featured a decapitated gorilla, colored in purple, that bore a passing resemblance to himself, its optics x'd out, and purple energon spurting from its empty neck.  In big, bold letters, it said,

_I challenge you._

"Classy," he said.

"Megatron's quite the artist.  Perhaps he should pursue a career in it."

"Don't even joke, Rhinox.  The last thing I want to see is a visual representation of Megatron's inner turmoil.  Especially if _this_ is the kind of content we can expect."  Optimus crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the first recycling bin they passed.  There.  Thoughtfulness quota reached.

"Still, I wonder what he meant by that?  'I challenge you.'  It was a bit of a vague message, wasn't it."

And then, as if called, Megatron stomped into the conversation a second time, walking backwards now, as if someone had pressed the rewind button on his life.  Without words, the mech thrust another flier into Optimus's hands, then scurried away once more.

_Dodgeball Match!  This Friday, after school, the gym.  Five-on-five.  Let's do this._

"What in the –" Rhinox said, taking the letter from Optimus to get a closer look.  "Dodgeball?  I don't know what you did to frag him off this time, but you may wish to make amends."

Optimus laughed.  "It's just dodgeball, Rhinox.  We'll get a team together and play a friendly game.  I think it's a great idea."

Rhinox's face grew dark, his eyes, dim, grave.  "I fear you may be unfamiliar with the concept of the game."

"I know what dodgeball is," Optimus scoffed, snatching the flier back and disrupting the heavy atmosphere that his friend had worked so hard to orchestrate.  He strolled onwards down the hall.  Like the Pit would he be late for gym class with Mr. Grimlock. 

Rhinox, however, raced ahead, cutting Optimus off with a dark glare, a glare so dark, that all the lights seemed to flicker off, the ambient noise, muted, until the world was just Optimus and Rhinox, dramatic, deathly serious.  Optimus felt his tanks clench.  Who knew Rhinox could be so scary?

"You do not know dodgeball," he growled, the growl of a veteran who had seen some shit.  "You wouldn't have that attitude if you did."

Optimus didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it hadn't been this.  Rhinox was a sensible mech – valedictorian, calm and caring.  He was not one to lose his temper over nothing.  Perhaps there was more to this 'dodgeball' thing than met the eye?  At the very least, it wouldn't hurt to indulge him.

"Okay Rhinox.  You tell me about the bizarro-world version of dodgeball that _you're_ playing."

The glare on Rhinox's face sobered up, his eyes grew solemn and distant.  "It is a brutal sport, that turns friends into enemies and enemies into convicts.  My younger brother, Tankor, goes to Tripredacus High.  He got mixed up in a game of dodgeball just last year.  He's never been the same since.  All he does is stare out the window, muttering 'Tankor, _Tankor_ ' under his breath.  It's a sad sight.  A sad sight indeed." 

When he turned once more to face Optimus, there were tears in his optics, dramatic, pleading.  "Please, listen when I tell you to take this challenge seriously, Optimus."

"Okay," said Optimus.  He was a very easy-going sort of guy.  And thoughtful.  Thoughtfulness quota exceeded.  Score!

"And I will of course be there to back you up," Rhinox added, the drama of the previous moment vanished in a flash.

"Thank you Rhinox.  You're a real pal."  Unfortunately, the challenge called for 'five on five.'  Optimus and Rhinox were only two mechs. 

"Now we just gotta find three more bots to join in the game," Optimus sighed, slumping against the wall.  "But if it's as bad as you say, then who in their right mind would want to play with us?"

"Optimus," Rhinox said, stepping on ahead with a mysterious smile.  "You're the most popular kid in school.  I'm sure you can find at least three more mechs who would be willing to put their lives on the line for your sake."

"I hope you're right."

 


	3. Cheetor, Elated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheetor just wants his idol, Optimus Primal, to notice him.

Cheetor was the fastest kid in the whole school.  And that was about all he had going for him.  He was young, he was obnoxious, naïve, arrogant, and worst yet, a Freshman.  It was just the right combination to make him the least popular kid on campus.  But damn it, he was trying.

He wanted to be cool.  He wanted to be legendary, a hero – just like star quarterback Optimus Primal.  Damn, _that_ guy knew what was up.  Someday, Cheetor was going to get ripped and be exactly like that swanky gorilla.  But until then, he was just some lame Freshman track star.  Psh, like anyone cared about _track._

"Don't sell yourself short, Kid.  You got talent," said Rattrap, the creepy upperclassman who liked to hang out under the bleachers, selling illicit goods.  Cheetor liked Rattrap.  He was a nice, upstanding sort who always knew just what to do in any given situation.  If he didn't already want to grow up to be like Optimus Primal, sports legend, then he'd want to grow up to be like Rattrap.

Actually, no.  That was a lie.  Fuck Rattrap.  Cheetor didn't want to be like him, even if he _was_ resourceful and _did_ know a thing or two.  He was short and he smelled bad, and those were two things that Cheetor did not want to be/do.  Maybe he'd be best sticking to being himself.

But why would he want to be himself?  Nobody liked the him that was, not even himself.  His only real positive trait was his speed.  If he was like, cool or smart or anything like that, then he'd like, have a girlfriend or a boyfriend or whatever.  At least that was what the movies told him . . . Cheetor didn't even like movies.

He was getting existential.  And getting existential made him feel down.  And when he felt down, Cheetor liked to run the track.  It was the only thing that let him forget that he was kind of awful, and also a dime-a-dozen, kid friendly type in a universe that was full of that exact archetype.  What a rip-off.

Anyway, so here he was, running, running, running.  Just him and the track and the soothing sounds of Evanescence screaming from his phone.  Oh couldn't somebody come and wake him up inside?

And then, at that exact moment, he got his wish.

Something zipped by him – something that looked suspiciously like a gorilla on a hoverboard.  Could it _be_?!  It _WAS_!!  Optimus Primal – _the_ Optimus Primal, was running the same track as him – flying – whatever.  And he was kicking his ass!  Cheetor was in heaven right now.  And for him, heaven was Optimus Primal's butt, getting smaller and smaller in the distance.  Did that sound weird?

Alas, so distracted was he by that pert buttocks, that he forgot to pay attention to the world around him.  Where had that pole come from?  And why had running into it at 75 miles an hour hurt so very much?

"Kid?  Kid, you okay there?"

Rattrap was standing over him, spinning around in a circle like a total aft.  He should respect victims of self-inflicted head-on collisions.  Oh wait.  He wasn't spinning.  That was just Cheetor's addled processor.

"Rattrap?" he groaned.  "What do _you_ want?"

"Well, I watched you wipe out back there, and well, first of all, let me say that it was _very_ funny."

"Gee, thanks."  Had Cheetor mentioned that he hated Rattrap yet?

"Anyway, Optimus Primal came by while you were out, asked who you were.  I told him you had a major crush on him.  He said, 'That's nice.'  I said, 'I gave you info, you give me bucks.'  He said, 'I don't got any change.'  I said, 'I'll charge it to your tab.'  He said, 'Okay.'"

"Is there a point to this?" Cheetor groaned.  "You're making me dizzier than the impact did."

"Okay, I'll skip a few steps.  The point is, I think I can do a special something for you, to get that special _someone_ to finally turn around and notice you."

Cheetor was too stunned to formulate a proper response.  "Huh?"

"Just think about it, kid.  Instead of spending your life staring at his aft, you can stare at his face!"

"But I like his aft . . ." Cheetor admitted.  He was wary.  Rattrap was never to be trusted to make a fair deal.

"Fine, keep looking at his aft.  The point is, he'll know you exist, and isn't that what you want?"

Cheetor thought that over.  Cheetor wanted fame and fortune.  He wanted babes and he wanted status and power and popularity.  And more than all that, he wanted to be the hero.  But as a measly freshman, he could have none of these things.  Optimus, however?  Optimus was the exact kind of mech that Cheetor wanted to be.  And if Cheetor got close to him – got on his radar?  Then he could share in Optimus's wealth and spotlight.  He nodded.

"Y-yeah.  That's what I want."

"Good!"  says Rattrap, his mouth twisting up into a predatory sneer.  "Come back here tomorrow.  I guarantee I can get him to talk.  From there, you just gotta say the right words, _capiche_?

"Uhh . . ."  Rattrap was untrustworthy.  Rattrap didn't do anything out of the good of his heart.  Rattrap was kind of an asshole.  On the other hand, Optimus!

"Uh, yeah.  I _capiche_."

"Perfect!"

~~~

And so it was, at Rattrap's behest, that Cheetor was running the track again the next day, which really wasn't all that unusual.  He ran the track every day.  He was just doing what he always did.  Would this really get him noticed?

But he did as he was told, and soon enough, Optimus showed up to run the track, just like _he_ did every day.  My, wasn't his aft _particularly_ shapely today?  But Cheetor wasn't so foolish as to be distracted by it two days in a row.  He finished the race, surprised to find Optimus waiting for him at the end.  And maybe he'd grown immune to the aft, but those pecs?  Nuh-uh.  Cheetor lost control.  There was no breaking no.  There was only him, moving at 60 miles per hour, and Optimus's pert, perfect chest.  He hoped the inevitable collision didn't hurt too much.

Aww, what did he care?

He was out for much shorter than yesterday, and this time, when he came to, instead of Ratbat's ugly mug, he had Optimus Prime's gorgeous gorilla face watching over him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I am now," Cheetor responded, gleefully taking the offered hand that helped him to his feet.

"I'm glad," said Optimus, gladly.  "My name is Optimus Prime.  Are you Cheetor?"

"I am now."  By the time Cheetor realized what an odd thing that was to say, Optimus was talking again.

"Right."  He looked doubtful.  No!  Don't look doubtful!  That was so the opposite of cool! 

"I mean – uh – that's not – err, what I meant to say – hi – you're uh, I mean.  Wow, what a day?"

"Are you sure you're all right?" Optimus asked, raising an optic ridge.

"I'm great!" Cheetor barked in response.  "Swell, fine, awesome!  How are you?"

"Err, I'm well," Optimus said, the worried look in his eye as present as ever.  Cheetor was making a fool of himself.  This was terrible.  He hoped that Optimus would just hurry up and say something before he fell deeper into this hole he'd dug for himself.

He was in luck.

"Actually, I was looking for you.  Rattrap said you might be able to help me with a problem."

Help?  Optimus?!  "Hell fraggin' yeah I can help you!" Cheetor squealed – no – cheered.  Was that dignified enough?

"I applaud your enthusiasm, Cheetor, but wouldn't you like to hear what it is first?  You might not want to participate if you know."

"Oh please, I'm ready for anything!  I'm brave and strong and like, really virile, if that word means what I think it means.  And I'm no quitter!  I'll do anything for you, Optimus Primal!"

"Even if that thing is joining my dodgeball team?"

Cheetor's spark stopped.  He hadn't considered such a heinous request to be possible.  He would do anything to impress Optimus Primal, yes.  But this was _dodgeball_ , the most lethal of all school-endorsed activities.  How was he supposed to befriend his idol if he was dead?  "I –"

"It's all right," said Optimus, and damn but it made Cheetor feel even worse.  "I won't force you.  Dodgeball is an undertaking that must be willingly chosen."

Look at him!  He was so – so _noble_!  Cheetor couldn't let a selfless mech like that down.

Besides, he may die, but at least he'd die with the love and respect of Optimus Primal.

"I – I'll do it," he squeaked out.

"You will?!" Optimus gaped.  "Are you sure?  Like, you've thought this through?  You'll _really_ play dodgeball with me?  You could die.  Or break your legs.  It's a dangerous game.  I understand if you want to drop out."

Somehow, though the warnings were clear, they only gave Cheetor further strength.  He _wanted_ to do this, he was _going_ to do this.  "Optimus Primal?"

"Yes?"

"I would be honored to play on your team."

 


	4. Tarantulas, Bored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas is on recruiting duty. Good thing he has a plan.

Tarantulas didn't like coming down from his flagpole.  It was a good place.  A safe space.  A space he'd discovered a decade ago, the very first time he'd been hoisted unwillingly by his transformation kibble to flap valiantly in the breeze.  A normal kid  would find the incident traumatizing, but Tarantulas was not a normal kid by any means.  It was up there, in the cold, dangling by his backplate-backpack, that he realized just what a magical place the flagpole was.  It was the perfect place to drop down on an unsuspecting victim, grab them in your claws, and carry them away to their doom.

Also, the Vok never looked up here, which was good when you were actively trying to hide from them, and their creepy skull-faces and penchant for law and order.  Tarantulas hated them more than anything.

But every once in a while, he too had to do his civic duty.  His school needed him – _Megatron_ needed him.  Like syphilis.   And just like syphilis, Tarantulas wasn't about to let his new best friend down without a fight.  Dodgeball was the game – five on five.  Megatron, Tarantulas, and Dinobot were all confirmed players, but that left two very unfortunate vacancies on the team – vacancies in need of filling.

Megatron, of course, couldn't be assed to fill the vacancies himself; that wasn't his jam.  _He_ liked to strut around all self-important and sexy and give the orders and feel like a big bad dinosaur.  It was up to everyone else around him to do the busy work.  And Tarantulas _lived_ to serve. 

And true, Megatron didn't really have any friends (loyal ones anyway), and dodgeball was a lethal and terrifying game that one would have had to have been forced to voluntarily play, but that meant nothing.  Insurmountable odds were nothing in the face of Tarantulas's sheer genius.  He had a surefire way to fill up the team.

"'Megatron's dodgeball tryouts?'  What is _this_ Tarantulas?"  Megatron stared up at the elegantly painted banner than hung in the gym over the judge's table, a sneering Dinobot on his arm.

"It looks like a joke," hissed Dinobot.  "Nobody with two wits about them would dare come to such an event."

"Lucky for us, it's not wits we're looking for," Tarantulas chuckled back.

"No?" Dinobot sneered, stepping closer, a threat in his stance.  "We're going into battle against an unknown force – tell me, bug, what is it we're looking for?"  He leaned in close, close enough that Tarantulas could smell the mech's lunch on his breath – raptor meat?  Interesting.

"We're looking for place-fillers, nothing more, nothing less," Tarantulas laughed, stepping out from underneath the big lug's glare.  His attention was on the bigger lug, who was sitting on the table, legs crossed and an intrigued twinkle in his eye.

"Of course, I alone will be more than enough to handle Primal and whatever forces he manages to throw together.  And with you, Dinobot, at my side, it will be overkill."  Dinobot hung his head in bitter resignation.

"Ah yes.  So any old loser will do.  I see."

"In my field, we prefer to use the term 'cannon fodder,'" Tarantulas added, skittering over to the table.  "Any loser would be drawn out by the promise of becoming an associate of _The_ Megatron, star Autoball player and all around popular guy.  You'll have your team all sorted out by the end of the day."

"And where's the honor in that?" Dinobot grumbled, shooting Tarantulas a vile look.  Tarantulas didn't like that look.  That was a look that promised retribution, and with years of experienced being the victim of ineffectual bullying, he knew a very real threat to his person when he saw it.  Dinobot was a Dinobot of action.  And somehow, Tarantulas doubted his punishment would be so delightful as being hoisted up the flagpole this time.

"Megatron, contain your boyfriend.  He's looking at me all hungry like.  I don't like it."

"Dinobot, heel."

Oh, the look on Dinobot's face was priceless.  Tarantulas would have loved to eat it right up.  But Dinobot was nothing, if not a loyal lover.  He left his moderately-nervous prey to stand at Megatron's side, though his glare never left.

"Well, Tarantulas, I do so love the way you think.  I give my full approval for you to hold these team tryouts.  Fill up the ranks.  It will be a delightful exercise in cohesion."

Tarantulas cut himself off mid-cackle to fix Megatron with a curious stare.  "I'm sorry, cohesion?"

"Yes," acknowledged Megatron.  "I would like you and Dinobot to work together on this.  Suss out – what – two or three bots who would be perfect additions to team Megatron.  Show them the ropes.  The works.  I trust your judgment fully."

"That makes _one_ of us," Dinobot growled beneath his breath, though Megatron pretended not to hear.

Still, Dinobot's sentiment was very much reflected by the spider in question.  Working with Dinobot was not exactly on his priority list.  But what could he do?  He needed to earn Megatron's trust, and in order to win Megatron's trust, he needed to give Megatron what he wanted, and what Megatron wanted was a total and complete victory over Optimus Primal, once and for all.  What Tarantulas wanted didn't matter.  His only option was to sit down, shut up, and work with Mr. Snarly-Face.

~~~

Tarantulas had never been so bored in his life.  He'd expected at least a few good performances.  Who'd have thought that the tryouts for the most exciting game that was still permitted on campus could be so damn uninteresting?  It was just bot after bot – throw a ball, catch a ball, blah blah, boo.  And Mr. Snarly-Face made the show even worse.  He just sat by, his arms folded in stern disapproval as each act bled into the next.  Tarantulas was quite certain he wouldn't be able to match any of these names to faces if his life depended on it.  Somebody save him!

The first to catch his eye was a red pterodactyl in a white suit, who, for a reason that Tarantulas couldn't fathom, had chosen to sing a rousing musical number, rather than actually try for anything athletic.  Did he think this was glee club tryouts?  Still, at least it was memorable.

"What was your name again?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Terrorsaur."

"I like him," Tarantulas said to Dinobot, once said Terrorsaur had left the room.  For the first time, Dinobot turned his red eyes on him.  And he had the most delicious look on his face to boot!

"You can't be serious about this.  That shrill-voiced disaster didn't so much as touch a ball.  You would really dishonor our team with such an appointment?"

"Well," Tarantulas shrugged, "it's not like there've been many good choices."

"There have been plenty.  In fact, your pick has been the only legitimately poor choice we've encountered thus far."

"I liked my pick," Tarantulas protested.  "He was entertaining!"

"This is a death match, not Cybertron Idol!"

"It doesn't matter if they're good or not.  We've got you and Megatron. We've already won."  Tarantulas did not believe this at all.  But the point wasn't to win.  Not that he was going to tell _Dinobot_ anything like that.  He was not so easily persuaded as his boyfriend.

Speaking of, he had the most pronounced snarl, and . . . were his _eyes_ starting to glow?  He had _eye lasers_?!  Tarantulas _may_ have been jealous on that front.  Not that it would make much of a difference for long.  Especially if Dinobot decided to actually _use_ them on him.

But much to Tarantulas's relief, Dinobot refrained.  Instead, he allowed his frame to slump in a sigh.  "Very well.  It seems I can't argue with you."  Wise move.   But Tarantulas felt a 'but' coming on.   May as well beat him to the punch.

"But?"

"But I refuse to disgrace myself by appearing in public on a team of bumbling idiots.  If you insist on Terrorsaur, then I get a pick of my own."

That was fair, Tarantulas supposed.  "Who do you want?"

Dinobot looked down the list, taking the time to read the notes he'd taken on each of the applicants.  It was hard to believe he'd actually managed to pay attention to them.  At last, he spoke.

"Scorponok seems like a good choice."

"Scorponok?"  Who was that?  Looking over his own notes, all he had written down was 'nerd,' 'buff,' and 'scorpion guy,' not that any of that rang a bell.

"Yes.  He had strong throws, consistent dodges, and seemed quite capable of strategizing.  I suspect he'll be a better asset than _you_ are, at least."

Tarantulas scoffed.  " _No one_ is a better asset than me!"

Dinobot ignored the comment.  "That's five then.  We're done here."

Thank all that was unholy.

And then the sound of the door slamming open, of buzzing wings, and the pitter patter of big ol' insect feet reached his audio receptors.  A bug!  Oh, how it left him with a hungry pit in his stomach.

"Waspinator here for Dodgeball tryout!"

It was difficult not to laugh.  There, standing before them, was the biggest loser in school.  Waspinator was the kid that _bullying victims_ picked on.  He was a loser in every manner, clinically unlucky, and honestly, a little annoying.

"What a shame," said Tarantulas.  "I'm afraid that try outs just ended, and we've collected all five players that we needed.  It looks like there's no place for you."

The poor little wasp's mandibles began to shiver, and he cried out, "Why universe hate Waspinator?!"  Before he could turn and flee like the pathetic little insect he was, however, Dinobot was rushing forth, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.  Just what was that miserable aft up to now?

"Ignore him," he said, not bothering to spare Tarantulas a single glance.  "We are obligated to watch every tryout.  Even yours.  So get up there and show us what you've got."

Waspinator buzzed in delight.  "Dinobot won't be disappointed!"

It was quite a sight to be seen.  By some miracle, Waspinator was able to catch every ball thrown his way – not with his hands, but with his face, and _that_ was an automatic penalty for the thrower.  Even _Tarantulas_ had to admit it was impressive.

"Well?  Is Waspinator on team?" he asked once he'd finished, beaming proudly through his caved eyes, dangling mandible, and broken antenna.

Tarantulas turned to Dinobot; Dinobot turned to Tarantulas.

"We've already got our five," Tarantulas argued, albeit weakly.

"We can get rid of the diva."

"Terrorsaur stays!"  That one was non-negotiable.  Tarantulas loved a good song.

"Well," sighed Dinobot, "is there any rule that says we're _limited_ to five people?"

Tarantulas pondered this over.  The invite said five v. five, but there was no reason they couldn't have substitutes.  And if Optimus and his loser teammates protested the issue, Tarantulas had no problem stepping into the role of cheerleader.

"I suppose not," he admitted at last, slumping.  He wasn't disappointed with the outcome, but losing an argument with Dinobot was perhaps not his most shining moment.

"Well then, would you like to do the honors?"  Dinobot's toothy smile was surprisingly understanding.  Perhaps he was more than the shallow, honor-obsessed poser he made himself out to be.  How touching.

"Very well!"  Tarantulas, however, was not the type to care about such gestures.  He bounded forward, bumping Dinobot aside with help of his generous shoulders, and boasted, "Waspinator, welcome to team Predacon!"


	5. Rattrap, Blackmailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rattrap has a great setup. Why would he want to risk it for a game of dodgeball that he is not invested in?

The thing about being Rattrap was that Rattrap knew everything about everyone.  He knew that Torca really wanted to just make friends, that Triceradon was a poser death-head who was gonna die for _real_ one of these days, and, oh yeah, that Optimus Primal and Megatron were about to have the dodgeball death match to end all dodgeball death matches.  Of course, everyone knew about _that_.  They were two of the most popular fellas in school.  Their goings on weren't exactly a secret.

What everybody _didn't_ know, was that Megatron had amassed a team of six bots, some of whom were lethal on the dodgeball court, while Optimus so far, had only himself, Rhinox, and Cheetor.  And try as he might, he just _couldn't_ drum up the same interest in joining his team that Megatron had.  Perhaps it was because good was dumb.  Perhaps it was because nobody wanted to be stuck on a team with _Cheetor_ (good kid – talented, _annoying_ ).  Either way, the match was tomorrow and Optimus was doomed.

Poor guy.

But, that wasn't Rattrap's problem.  He'd helped hook Cheetor up with Optimus out of the goodness of his heart (and also because Cheetor was his number one buyer of Waspinator pieces (he refused to ask), but that was where his involvement ended.  Rattrap liked being alive.  And playing dodgeball, let alone against some of the most shady characters in school, would not be conducive to his continued survival.  Not to mention the fact that it was sure to draw the Voks' attention, and the last thing Rattrap needed was _that_.

Besides, what did _he_ care about the relationship drama between Optimus and Megatron?  He would much rather keep going about his day-to-day goings about.  For instance, right now, he was selling Tigatron some robo-weed.  The moment he left, Airazor would come skulking in, asking about her beloved crush, and then _also_ buy some robo-weed.  After that, Cheetor would come in and buy a Waspinator antenna (again, wasn't going to ask), and Night Knight would come after that to buy some robo-weed.  And also some swords, that he could slap together into one _mega_ sword, but mostly, Rattrap just sold robo-weed.

Of course, then the inevitable wrench was thrown into his plans.  Cheetor came back.  And he brought Optimus Primal with him.

"Hey, what can I do ya for?" he asked, knowing full well where this was going.

"Well," said Cheetor, all bright-eyed and innocent, and irritating, "we were hoping that, since you helped unite me and Optimus for the dodgeball thing, that you'd help fill up the rest of our team too."

While the baby-amber eyes were _very_ compelling, Rattrap was not so weak of character to be compelled by them.  "Yeah, I did a favor for my favorite customer."  Cheetor puffed his chest out in pride at the compliment.  "But that's _it_.  I got _no_ interest in puttin' _my_ personal _life_ on the line for your stupid lover's quarrel."  He jerked an accusing finger at Optimus, who drew back with a look of surprise on his face.

"I'm sorry, what?"  No _way_ was this sap _that_ clueless.  "Do you think that Megatron and _I_?  Oh, no.  You're mistaken.  Megatron is seeing Dinobot."

"Sure," Rattrap scoffed, "And I don't eat garbage."

"What?"

"The _point_ is," said Rattrap, stepping forward so that his outstretched finger was now jabbing Optimus in the chest, "I'm a businessmech.  I ain't gonna help you unless you make it worth my while, and there is no way you can make anything about this situation worth my while." 

Optimus backed away, but Rattrap pursued, keeping his finger firmly affixed to that ripped gorilla chest.  "Now, you wanna buy some illicit goods?  I'm your guy.  But don't bother me about this dodgeball nonsense.  I got no stake in the outcome of this battle, so keep me outta it."

Optimus didn't press the issue.  Cheetor tried to press the issue, but was ignored.  And thus, defeated by Rattrap's superior wit, the two left his hidey hole, sad and defeated, and Rattrap didn't have to deal with the dodgeball affair anymore.

Until just after lunch.

Megatron's team was strutting through the hallway like a group of six male models, swaggering and slow motion, and a sexy wind tossing their clothes/feathers/hair/whatevs in a gentle, attractive way.  Also, they were taking up the majority of the hallway.  It was inevitable that they would plough over _somebody_ sooner or later, and that somebody happened to be Rattrap.  The delicate swing of Dinobot's beefy arm had whacked him right upside the head, as he was digging through his locker for some dignity.  It knocked him straight to the ground.

And the perpetrator kept right on walking.

"Ay!  What do ya think you're doin', you big  palooka!  In polite society, we apologize for knockin' a guy over!"

As one unit, all six mechs stopped.  The actual culprit remained frozen in place, frame stiff, as though dreading what would come next.  The loser spider was snickering as was the pop star pterodactyl, the scorpion was tapping his claws together nervously, and the wasp was shivering.  But Megatron?  He turned around, and marched right back over to Rattrap, using his superior size to loom over his less-than-large frame.

"I'm sorry.  Did you say something, rodent?"

"Yeah," said Rattrap, not intimidated in the least.  "Your pal over there knocked me over with his cavemech arms.  I'm demanding he apologize.  You don't wanna know what I got planned if he doesn't, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"And what, exactly, are you saying?" came the breathy, snarly voice of Dinobot, forcing his way past Megatron to scoop Rattrap up by the collar and stare into his eyes.  Ugh.  Why had he opened his big mouth like that?  Now things were going to get messy.

"I'm sayin' that, well, I may not look like much, but I'm not exactly the sort o' guy you'd be wanting to cross.  Y'know, if you don't wanna find yourself set up for expulsion, or worse.  I mean, we _all_ remember what happened to Rampa –"

"That wasn't _you_!" Dinobot snapped, dropping Rattrap in disgust.  "Everyone knows that _Depth Charge –_ you know what?  Forget it."  He folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

"Talks big for a rat," Megatron sneered.  "Oh Dinobot, you can't be meaning to let that slide?  Words like that can't go unpunished, no."

Dinobot stiffened, whirling on Megatron.  "I don't need _you_ telling me how to defend my honor!  I can accomplish that on my own."

"Ew.  Dinobot, you do know that I hate that word."

Dinobot rolled his eyes, turning back to Rattrap.  Unfortunately, Rattrap hadn't _quite_ managed to skitter out of the range of those freakishly buff arms.  He was off the ground again in seconds, dangling in that tight, awkward grip.  What did one even _do_ with an extra pair of thumbs?

"I do not appreciate being insulted, Vermin.  I acknowledge that the fault was mine for knocking your . . . fragile frame to the ground.  I am not the type incapable of admitting my own faults.  But now it is your turn.  Apologize for your earlier words, and I shall not have to leave you with any . . . physical reminders of this encounter."

"Not on your life," Rattrap spat.

"Very well.  We shall play it your way."  Rattrap was ascending again, high up into the air.  But before Dinobot the chance to send him crashing back down . . .

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"Oooh, it's Floptimus Primal," Megatron sneered.  And indeed, Optimus and his tiny entourage had appeared from nowhere to throw themselves into Rattrap's business.  How like them.

"Dinobot," Optimus warned, "put him down now."

Dinobot fixed Optimus with a long, hard stare, breaking it up with the occasional glance back to Rattrap here and there.  In the end, he seemed to decide that taking vengeance on Rattrap wasn't worth finding himself on the bad side of the world's biggest teacher's pet.  All at once, his claws let go of Rattrap's collar, sending him dropping to the ground below with an unmanly shriek.

"Dinobot!"

"You only said to put him down.  You didn't specify _how_ you wanted me to put him down."  And then, his wicked glare fixed itself on Rattrap.  "This isn't over, you vile garbage crawler.  I do not forget slights against myself so easily.  But I do not care to keep at it now.  I take my leave of this whole sordid affair."  Mr. Snarly-face turned on his heel and marched off, but Megatron still had a few words to say, specifically to Optimus.

"So, I couldn't help but notice your little . . . fan club.  Is this – is this your _team_ for the game?"

"It is," said Optimus, guarded.

"Why Optimus," Megatron jeered, "You seem to be missing something.  The rules did specify five on five, after all.  If you can't find yourself another two teammates by tomorrow afternoon, well, you'll be disqualified, and I'll have beaten you once and for all.  Yes."

But despite his grim odds, Optimus stood firm.  "It's not game time yet.  I'll find the rest of my team," he said, without so much as faltering.  "Now you get back to your life, and I'll get back to mine."

"Very well, Optimus Primal," Megatron said, marching away.  "We'll see if you're still talking so big tomorrow.  Yes."  And then came the laughter, first from Megatron, and then Tarantulas, and then the rest of his army of mooks, following him all the way down the hall and out of sight.  What a melodramatic weirdo.

"What a melodramatic weirdo," Cheetor laughed, echoing Rattrap's sentiments.  Rattrap made a face.  He did _not_ like Cheetor echoing his sentiments.  "Well anyway," he added, reaching out a hand to Rattrap.  "Welcome to the team!"

Rattrap narrowed his eyes.  "What _team_ is that?"  He hopped back to his feet, dusting himself off.

Of course, poor Cheetor was taken aback by the assertion.  "What?  But I thought that you?"

"That I what?  Was oh so grateful to you for saving my sorry aft from the big bad Preds, that I'd fall prostrate before you and _beg_ to be allowed the honor of playing on your dodgeball team?  Sorry kid, it don't work like that.  Rattrap doesn't do gratitude; least not when my butt's the one on the line.  Go find your new best friends somewhere else.  This rat is out."  He turned on his heel and sauntered off down the hallway opposite the Preds, leaving two very distressed mechs behind him.  And one mech that did not appear distressed in the slightest.

Not that it was like _Rhinox_ to get upset.

Oh well.  They'd find their guys, or they wouldn't.  It wasn't something Rattrap would be losing sleep over.  That much was certain.

~~~

Later that afternoon, Rattrap found himself in his usual spot, under the bleachers, selling absolutely legal goods to whoever passed his way.  It was the life.  It was never not going to be his life.  He would never allow anything to come between him and this perfect, wonderful, lucrative life.

"Rattrap."

"Rhinox!  What brings Mr. Valedictorian himself to my humble shop?"  Seriously.  What was Rhinox doing here?  He wasn't the type to be interested in buying black market quantum flux generators or mysteriously disembodied t-cogs.  And he definitely wasn't the type to buy robo-weed.  His presence made Rattrap more than a little nervous.

"This is a nice setup you've got here, Rattrap," he commented idly. 

"Be a shame if anything happened to it," Rattrap finished, letting the bitterness creep into his voice.  "That's what this is about, isn't it?  Threats!  That's low Mr. Class Rep."

"It is," Rhinox agreed.  "But this is a matter of life and death.  Optimus is too kind to do what must be done, and Cheetor too naïve.  The dodgeball game is tomorrow, and we're still short two players.  I don't know how Megatron managed to get six in such a short time, but if we can't find ours, we're done.  And I happen to know that you are the most resourceful mech in school."

"I am."  Rattrap always did love a nice stroke to his ego, even if he still had no intention of helping.

"If anyone can fill our team by tomorrow afternoon, it is you."

"Probably yeah," he shrugged.  "But I ain't gonna do it.  No sense in putting my life or reputation on the line for a bunch of folks I don't care about.  Cheetor was a one-time case, but I ain't gonna risk losing my customers so you can what the friggity fraggle is _that_?"

Rhinox was holding up a device, a device that quite looked like a hand-sized box, with an antenna and a big, red button at its center.  "It is a remote transmitter.  I press this comically vulnerable button, and it transmits information from my drives directly to the Vok."

"Psh!  Information?  What, you gonna tell 'em I'm here?  You think I'm not prepared for that?  Please, I have contingency plans upon contingency plans!"

"Tigatron, Airazor, Night Knight, Torca, Triceradon, Rapticon, Iguanus, Mach Kick . . . shall I go on?"

Frag it all!  Rhinox had scrounged up a list of Rattrap's customers, particularly the ones who liked to buy the less legal of his goods (how many more did Rhinox have?)!  Rattrap may have made _himself_ beyond reproach by investigators, but his customers were by and large, hopeless buffoons.  They'd never stand a chance!  And without customers, he had no business, no comfortable, wonderful, lucrative lifestyle for the rest of the year!  He'd have to build himself up from scratch all over again!  And he was a senior!  There wasn't a whole lotta time left to rebuild an empire.  He couldn't let that happen!

"Fine.  You know what?  Fine.  You win.  I'll play your stupid game."

"That's what I like to hear," said Rhinox, smiling.  With deliberate movements, he put the button back into his subspace.

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're short one guy."

"And I trust you to find a solution for that.  Tomorrow, Rattrap.  Three o'clock.  I hope I've given you sufficient motivation to meet your deadline."

"You sure have," Rattrap groaned.

Twenty-three and a half hours.  That was how long he had to do the impossible and convince one hapless fool to join Optimus Primal's death match.  Should've been easy, right?

. . .

They were all gonna die.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the names dropped are actually characters. Except for Night Knight. He is a bootleg AlteraTion man, the strongest transformed soldier in universe who turns into a 'Super Power.' I love him.


	6. Dinobot, Dumped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinobot is not entirely happy with his arrangement. He could use a change.

Dinobot was not a happy Dinobot. 

He was a Predacon at heart, descended from a long line of proud warriors – honorable, mighty, wise.  He had chosen to ally himself with the great and powerful Megatron for just that reason.  _Megatron_ , born leader of the Predacons, had shown an interest in _him_!  Where was the honor in refusing?

But the more time he spent in the presence of the mech he had spent his life worshipping, the less starry eyed he became.  Megatron was none of the things a Predacon was supposed to be.  Or worse, he _was._ But he was also petty, vindictive, selfish, and addicted to crazy schemes that left Dinobot feeling ashamed to call himself a member of his birth faction.

And that was to say nothing of Optimus Primal.  Oh, Megatron _loved_ Optimus Primal.  He was _obsessed_!  He ate, slept, and _breathed_ the stupid gorilla.  And he couldn't be happy ogling the mech from a distance, no – he had to get _Dinobot_ in on it!  If Dinobot had to pretend to be that stupid, hairy jock one more time, he was going to seriously start rethinking the status of his relationship.

He was _already_ rethinking the status of his relationship.

At Megatron's behest, team Predacon (the name of his proud heritage, being given to this gang of _losers!_   The affront!) had gathered together for a dinner party, hosted at Dinobot's house no less.  He hadn't had a choice in the matter, of course.  In fact, he'd outright protested.  His five dads didn't like it when his friends (Megatron) came over, because his friends (Megatron) were notoriously bad at cleaning up after themselves.  In order to appease them, Dinobot was stuck playing host – wiping up spills, throwing away trash, and shooting mechs that got too boisterous.

Not that it helped much.

"We're going to wipe the _floor_ with Optimus and his loser friends!" Scorponok boasted, one foot on the table, as though he were moving to stand atop it.  Who'd have thought that a soft-spoken nerd could be so much trouble?  Dinobot quickly dragged his struggling frame back into his seat.

"Please," Squawked Terrorsaur.  "There's not going to _be_ a floor to wipe.  Primal's team never found a fifth.  We win by default."

There was a rousing round of laughter, led by Megatron himself.

"I dare say!  Optimus Primal will be so humiliated, he will never be able to show his face in school again, yes!"  He took a deep swig of his energon, wiping his lip with the back of his arm.  At least he hadn't spilled anything on the floor yet.  "But Dinobot, you're awfully quiet tonight.  Why not join in on the festivities?" 

"Some things are more important than gloating," Dinobot sneered, clearing away an armful of empty containers.  This was disgraceful! 

"I suppose, yes.  But everybody else is having such a great time.  Why not cut loose?"  In the short amount of time it had taken for Megatron to extend his invitation, Scorponok and Terrorsaur had somehow decided the best course of action was to begin singing a drinking song.  For being a choirboy, Terrorsaur sure couldn't sing.  And neither could Scorponok, for that matter.  And when Waspinator joined him, well, it was a major headache waiting to happen.  Tarantulas, as predicted, forewent the singing in order to laugh.  Dinobot hated everything about it.

"Why?  Have you forgotten whose house this is?  Have you forgotten who will be left with the cleanup of your 'great time?'  Have you forgotten who _always_ gets stuck with the cleanup?"

"Uh-oh," Terrorsaur said, his voice mocking.  He was rewarded with a quick shove out of his chair by Megatron.

"Dinobot," Megatron said, his voice smooth and warm.  "You are always living in the future.  As admirable as I find your ability to look ahead, don't forget to come join the rest of us in the present every now and then."

And if _that_ didn't just make Dinobot's blood boil?  "Well, maybe if _you_ ever looked to the future, I wouldn't have to.  But you don't!  You're impulsive and thoughtless.  Perhaps you should take an example from _me_."

"From _you?_   _Please_ , Dinobot.  You do not have the spine it takes to lead a team like this."

"Do you insult my valor now, Megatron?  At least I _have_ valor!"  They were fighting.  Already.  They did it a lot these days, but never before had they had so many friends to shame themselves in front of.  What was he doing?  "I'm sorry," Dinobot said.  "I didn't mean that."

Slowly, Megatron's lips twisted into a grin.  "Oh no.  You did."  He reached out, grabbing Dinobot's wrist and pulling him in.  "And that's what I love about you.  Always willing to speak your mind."

Dinobot didn't want to go.  This was how it always was.  They would fight, then Megatron would lure him back in with flattery and it was terrible and he wasn't having it. 

Okay, maybe he would have it for a _little_ bit. 

" _Megatron_ ," he whined.  _Him_!  Whining!  What was the world coming to?

"No, come on, Dinobot.  You're right.  This is your house, and we are making a wreck of it.  Where _are_ my manners?"

This wasn't right!  Everyone was watching.  _Waspinator_ was making kissy noises.  It was a disgrace!  He didn't want to look like a kowtowed fool in front of Scorponok or Terrorsaur, or – or _Tarantulas!_   That shifty little bug did not need any future advantage over Dinobot.  He needed to stand up for himself, dammit!  He was a _warrior_!  Not some defenseless vermin!

"A good question," he sneered, wrenching his hand out of Megatron's grasp. 

"Fine," Megatron countered, folding his now empty hands over his chest.  "Be that way."

And that, mercifully, was that.  It seemed that Megatron was done flirting for now, allowing Dinobot to get back to his previous state of grumpiness.

"Is that really the attitude of a winner?"  Tarantulas.  Of fucking course.  The little bastard couldn't leave well-enough alone.

"Doesn't sound like the attitude of a winner to me."  And there was Terrorsaur, Tarantulas's absurd pick for the team.  Were the two of them in cahoots?  "I don't think Dinobot _wants_ us to win tomorrow!"

"Of _course_ I want us to win!" Dinobot snapped back.  "There is no point in fighting if we don't win."

"Then why have you been such a stick in the mud?"  _Scorponok_ too?!  The traitor!  After Dinobot had vouched for him and everything!

But this was pointless.  He was picking fights for no reason.  He didn't even like half of these guys.  He didn't have to escalate this.  It wasn't worth the energy.  _Calm thyself.  You can do this._

"I am beginning to get the sense that you do not want me on this team."

How funny _that_ was the last straw.  Megatron bolted upright in his chair, looking for all the world as though he were being hunted, even while the rest of the gang laughed and jeered. 

"Of _course_ we want you on this team, Dinobot.  We're just joking around.  You know, how _Predacons_ do?"

"Yes," Dinobot sniffed, "I am well aware how Predacons _joke._ Now, I would like you to leave."

The atmosphere in the room turned icy in a flash.

"I'm sorry," said Megatron, "what was that?"

"You heard me.  You come to _my_ house, eat _my_ food, then choose to disrespect me.  You can leave."

"You can't kick us out," Terrorsaur protested.  "We're celebrating."

"You can celebrate elsewhere."  He lunged forward, grabbing Terrorsaur by the lapel of his almost-certainly expensive jacket, hoisted him from his seat, and gave the mech an undignified shove.  "And that goes for the rest of you too.  This is _my_ house, and I do not have to put up with this!"

The rest of the team exchanged glances, some confused, looking for help, others offended.  But not Megatron.  Megatron was angry.

"Dinobot –"

"No 'Dinobot!'" Dinobot hissed.  "I am sick of you walking all over me.  Am I not a valuable Predacon?  Or perhaps I am the _most_ valuable Predacon.  Were I in charge, I would not entertain this dodgeball nonsense.  You're obsessed with Optimus Primal.  That is the only reason we're engaging in such a senseless waste of our time.  You've invited a bunch of unsettling strangers into our group, and into _my_ home, all so you can act out your weird perversions.  I am done with being treated like your convenience.  I am done with being used and discarded by you.  I want you to leave."

"I'm sorry," said Megatron.  "I didn't hear that right.  What did you want me to do?"

" _Leave!"_ hissed Dinobot.  "And take your gang of ridiculous misfits with you!"

"You can't let him talk to you like that, Boss!" Scorponok insisted.

"Put him in his place!" Terrorsaur shrieked.

"Waspinator don't like the way Dinobot talks about Waspinator."

And Tarantulas?  His face was unreadable (due more to the weirdness of its structure than any effort to appear aloof).  However, knowing Tarantulas, he was probably snickering behind those mandibles.

Spurred on by the reactions of his teammates, Megatron stood up to his full height, chest puffed out proudly.  "Well, Dinobot, it is good to know how you really feel.  I now know who my true allies are, and you are not included amongst them, no.  We have dated for two years now, but I am not afraid to say goodbye to a toxic lover who scoffs at my greatest of schemes."

"Megatron?"  Was he saying what Dinobot thought he was saying?

"We only need five mechs for our dodgeball game.  Dinobot, you are off the team."

Thank Primus!

"And I am breaking up with you."

. . .

Actually, that didn't bother him as much as he'd thought it would. 

_That colossal aft._

". . . Fine.  Now get out of my house."

"Fine!  I will," Megatron snapped back, before turning on his heel and marching towards the door.  Aghast, the remaining Predacons followed suit, leaving Dinobot alone in his disaster zone of a dining room.  It was better this way.

It was.

He wasn't bitter over losing his boyfriend of two years over some petty argument and nonsensical vendetta.  He wasn't bothered by the mess left by his fellow Predacons.  And he wasn't the least bit disappointed that he wouldn't be playing in the game tomorrow – the game that he'd already devoted much effort into preparing for.

He wasn't.

And that was why he didn't race up the stairs to his room, why he didn't turn on his computer and open up Chassisbook, and why he _absolutely_ did not send a message to Optimus Primal, leader of the Maximals and root of all of his problems himself.

"Any vacancies on _your_ team?"

Dinobot didn't do any of those things, because he was fine.  He was fine.  He was fine.

Aww, fuck it.


	7. Rhinox, Concerned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhinox may not be worried about the upcoming dodgeball match, but he certainly is concerned.

Optimus was worried, but Rhinox wasn't.  He was not the type to get worried.  The world could be ending, and Rhinox would be the one rushing about in the background, calmly inputting the exact code needed to erect the barrier that would ward off the missiles and avert the apocalypse.  He was just that kind of guy.  When Rhinox worried, it was a clue that things really had gone to shit.

Things had not gone to shit.  Yet.  Dodgeball was no laughing matter.  Few knew its horrors quite so well as Rhinox did, but it was Megatron’s chosen method of venting his frustrations with Optimus.  It was best to indulge it; once he got an idea in his head, he never let it go.  Rhinox was not looking forward to this lethal battle of wit and skill, but he _was_ looking forward to seeing its end.  Once they played against Megatron, that would be the end of it.

But they couldn’t lose.

Dodgeball was not the sort of game one could lose and walk away from.  He’d seen what had happened to Tankor, and swore he would never allow the same to happen to him, or his friends, or the two random acquaintances they’d acquired over the week.  

Cheetor was an alright kid, if not a bit distractible, and Rattrap . . . well, he seemed good at what he did, at least – whatever that was.  There was, however, one tiny problem with their team arrangement.

They hadn’t found their fifth man.

Despite Optimus’s best efforts, and Rattrap’s assurances to the contrary, they were still four mechs to Megatron’s six, a fact the latter was keen on reminding them of at every opportunity.

“What’s this Optimus?” he laughed, flanked by a pterodactyl in a suit, a scorpion dressed as a nerd, and the biggest loser in school.  “Only _four_ teammates?  Why not give up right now!  My Predacons will win without so much as throwing a ball!”

“We’ll see about that, Megatron,” Optimus retorted, with a calm smile.  He wasn't panicking; he must have known something that no one else did.  Well, no one save for maybe Rattrap.

“You seem confident," Rhinox noted.

"Do I?"  Optimus asked, sweetly.

"Did you find a fifth?"

"I don't know.  Maybe."

 “And who is this fifth mech?” Rhinox pressed, but it seemed Optimus was playing coy.

“I don't want to get your hopes up.  We'll see him when we get there."

Rhinox didn’t ask again.  As much as he hated the notion, he had to trust in Optimus's blind faith.  There were other things to worry about.  The Vok, for instance.

Yes, dodgeball may have been a school-sanctioned activity, but there were so many rules, trivial details, more than even Rhinox knew, that the detention-happy school supervisors would exploit to fuel their power trip.  Megatron was very good at attracting Vok attention; chances were high that they’d be watching, waiting for the inevitable slip up that would land everyone with a blemish on their permanent record.

Rhinox tried not to let it bother him.  He cared more about being a supportive friend than his flawless academic record.  Besides, Iacon U. had already accepted him.  He had nothing to lose, unlike his teammates.   Cheetor especially.

He glanced around at his nervous companions, hoping against hope that they weren’t making a huge mistake.

~~~

They were making a huge mistake.  They had come to the gymnasium at three o'clock exactly.  The Predacons were already there, lounging about – Megatron, and Tarantulas, Scorponok, Terrorsaur, and Waspinator.  That particular choice was definitely an odd one, but Rhinox tried to take it as the blessing it was.  The more losers on the Predacon team, the better.  Dinobot was sure to come soon, and everyone knew that he was a top athlete.  Team Optimus would need all the help they could get, provided their mysterious fifth mech even arrived.

Megatron grinned down from his judge’s seat, tossing a rubber ball in his hand.  “Well well, Optimus Primal.  It looks like you never managed to scrounge up that fifth man.”

Optimus returned the smile.  “It’s not time yet, Megatron.  He’s coming.”

“Very well then,” Megatron sighed.  “We’ll play it your way.  Your mystery fifth man has five minutes to show up.  In the meantime, we’ll get everything squared away.  I want to start at three ten on the dot.”  He glanced back to his own team, a nervous twitch in his eye.  Come to think of it, there should have been six mechs on Megatron’s side, but only five had arrived.  Where was Dinobot?

“Okay gang,” said Optimus, drawing Rhinox’s attention.  “I know that the odds seem steep.  Very, very steep.”  He glanced at Megatron.  “We don’t know anything about their team, which is difficult when going in.”

“Actually,” said Rattrap, stepping forward with a piece of scrap paper in hand.  He read from the sheet, “Terrorsaur is useless, Scorponok is solid, Megatron is about on par with you, and don’t throw your balls anywhere near Waspinator.  It’s an automatic out.  Tarantulas, I don’t know.”

“Wow, Rattrap,” Optimus drew back in surprise.  “How is it that you know all of this?  I’ve never seen any of them play before.”

“Eh,” Rattrap shrugged.  “I bought the info from Tarantulas.”

“Tarantulas?” Cheetor gaped.  “Why that no good, two-timing –"

“If it works in our favor, then so be it,” Rhinox sighed.  Still, something didn’t sit right with him.  Tarantulas was up to something, he was certain of it.  “But what about Dinobot?”

“Dinobot won’t be a problem,” Optimus chuckled.  That was code for ‘Dinobot finally dumped Megatron’s sorry aft and joined our team late last night out of revenge’ if Rhinox ever heard it.  It made him feel marginally better, provided Dinobot bothered to show up.  He was a notoriously late sort of guy, and Megatron wasn’t going to delay for anything.

“Anyway,” he continued, “your information will come in handy, Rattrap.  The big threat is Megatron.  We want him out as soon as we can.  Scorponok and Tarantulas will take second priority.  Terrorsaur will be next, and Waspinator . . . I guess we’ll all have to aim at once.  Surely we can’t _all_ hit him in the face.”  He folded his absolutely ripped arms over his chest with a sigh.  “It’s not much, but I think it will work.  What do you think, Rhinox?”

Rhinox stroked his chin thoughtfully.  “I think Megatron will probably go for you first, or our mysterious fifth mech, depending on how bitter he is over being dumped.”

“Dumped?” Cheetor said, cocking his head.  “Did someone throw ol’ Megs in the dumpster?  'Cause if not, I volunteer for the job.”

Rattrap snickered, Optimus sighed, Rhinox shook his head.  What was wrong with kids these days?  Rhinox didn’t bother acknowledging the question with a response.

“I imagine Cheetor, Rattrap, and myself will be lesser targets.  That’s good for us, as all three of us are solid players.  We can take out Megatron while he’s distracted and follow the plan from there.”

“Then you’re saying we might stand a chance?” Optimus grinned.

“Provided our fifth mech shows up, I think we’ve got more than a chance.”

“Tick tock, Optimus.”  Megatron’s smug voice called attention back to him.  “Less than a minute to go.  If your last mech doesn’t show up soon, we win by default.”  At his back, his team began cackling.  “And then, Optimus, you will have to accept punishment for losing.”

Optimus narrowed his eyes.  “You never said anything about punishment.”

“Didn’t I?” Megatron sneered.  “The loser becomes the winner’s slaves for the rest of the school year.”

What?  Rhinox glanced at Optimus, worried.

“That was not part of the deal, Megatron!” Optimus protested, stepping forward with clenched fists.  “You can’t change the stakes like that!  You know I never would have agreed, never would have dragged anyone else into this thing if something so vile was on the table.”

“That’s not what this contract says,” Megatron grinned.

“Contract?”  Optimus cocked his head, his eyes narrowed.  “What are you talking about?”

“Oh Tarantulas!”  At Megatron’s words, Tarantulas scurried forward, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Megatron.  “The stakes of this battle are lined out right here.  ‘I, Optimus Primal, hereby agree to Megatron’s challenge to a five v. five game of dodgeball, wherein the losing team will become the slaves of the winners for the rest of the school year.’  And look, here is your squiggly little signature, right here!”  He held up the paper, pointing.

Rhinox stepped forward, figuring those law classes of his may finally come in handy.  Optimus and Cheetor followed as backup.  Rattrap did not follow, because of course he didn’t.  “This contract is written in purple crayon,” he noted.  Indeed, it appeared to have been written by a kindergartner.  Or a serial killer.  One of the two.  But, there, at the bottom was unmistakably Optimus Primal’s signature.  "Optimus?” he questioned, turning to his friend.

“I never signed this,” Optimus frowned.  “This is a forgery.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Megatron, handing the sheet back to his unscrupulous spider.  “We simply used the magic of technology and an old yearbook to get your name onto this sheet.  But that will be good enough for the Vok.  And you do know what sticklers they are for contractual obligation.”  He cackled like a maniac, once again inciting a chorus of guffaws from his team.

This was bad.  Megatron had steered Optimus and his foolish followers into throwing their lives away.  Rhinox had no desire to be doing the homework assignments of six idiots for the rest of the year, and he knew that his own teammates were feeling much the same.  That fifth mech needed to show up and show up now!

“Tick tock, Optimus.  It looks like you lose.”

“There are still ten seconds left!” Optimus protested, still cocky, but there was terror behind his eyes.

“Nine.  Eight.  Seven . . .”

“Hold it!”

Megatron ceased in his countdown, instead turning to face the gruff-voiced newcomer.  "Dinobot, where have you been?  You nearly missed our victory over the Maximals.  Oh well,” he laughed.  “You’re here now.  Let’s call it.”

“There is no victory, Megatron,” Dinobot growled, hopping down onto the court and standing at Optimus’s side, to the surprise of everyone save Optimus, Rhinox, and of course, Rattrap.

“Dinobot, what is this?”

“This,” Dinobot snarled, “is facing consequences for your actions.  If you do not wish to respect me, then I have no reason to fight for you.  Optimus here, however, agreed to let me join his team.”

Megatron narrowed his eyes.  “How did you even contact him?!  You’re not Chassisbook friends!”

“No,” Rattrap grinned, “but he and I _are_.  It wasn’t hard to make the arrangements.”

Megatron was shaking now, his head hung, a low growl in his throat.

“Well,” Terrorsaur screeched, scurrying to Megatron’s left, “I for one, am glad for this development.  I was looking forward to beating your afts!”

“Lord Megatron is the best athlete in school!” Scorponok added, stepping into the open space at Megatron’s right.  “Dinobot or not, you’ll still be our slaves by the end of the day!”

“Shut up, you idiots!”  Megatron smacked his companions with enough force to send them flying.  “This was not the way this was meant to go.”

Rhinox was feeling confident now.  The team pep talk had proven that Optimus had arranged the better team.  They had talked strategy, while Megatron and the Predacons had been gloating.  With Dinobot on the team, there was no way they could lose.  “Well,” he laughed, “this is a welcome development.”

“Welcome to the team, Dinobot!” Cheetor greeted.  

“Yeah, yeah, Dinobrain.  Way to wait ‘til the last second to come through.  Typical Pred behavior.”  If Rattrap scared Dinobot off with that comment, Rhinox would never forgive him.  But Dinobot merely smiled.

“I simply wanted to see your face, Vermin.  Consider it payback for your behavior yesterday.”

“What was that?!”

Before Rattrap could further jeopardize the fate of the team, Optimus stepped between the two, a broad smile on his handsome gorilla face.  “Well then, Megatron.  Five mechs are on each side.  I think it’s time for some dodgeball.”

“Wait, Primal!  Think about this for a –"

“Let the Beast Wars begin!”


	8. Waspinator, Victorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waspinator is good at dodgeball. Not that it makes any difference.

Waspinator was the luckiest mech in the world.  Just last week, he’d been the biggest loser in school, eating lunch all by himself, getting picked on by even the unpopular kids.  But now? Now he was playing SPORTS with MEGATRON! His entire life, Waspinator had thought he was cursed, but no! Everything had been leading up to this moment, standing on the dodgeball court, side by side with the most popular mech in school, and facing down the enemy.  This was the best day of his life.

The game was beginning, Optimus and his Maximals on one side of the court, looking all ripped and sparkly, like the sort of folks one could find on the cover of a romance novel (except for Rattrap.  Rattrap had no business being anywhere near romance novels). The Predacons, meanwhile . . . well, Megatron looked menacing, at least. Scorponok, with his short shorts and sweatband looked quite ready to play some sports.  He was also making Waspinator uncomfortable. Terrorsaur looked like he’d never thrown a ball in his life. Tarantulas was on his cell phone of all things. And then there was Waspinator, timid and undersized and so very nervous.

The clock struck three ten.  A flurry of movement erupted on the court as both sides raced to grab the single ball, sitting in the middle.  Cheetor got there first. He threw, aiming for Tarantulas, who had only just hung up his phone. 

Suddenly, Waspinator was flying; Megatron had shoved him between the ball and the spider.  There was the sharp smack of rubber on metal, as the ball collided with Waspinator’s head.

“Out!”

“You know it!” Cheetor beamed, only to receive a stern shake of the head from Rhinox.

“Not him, Cheetor.  You. You can’t hit someone in the head.”

“What?” Cheetor wailed.  “But - but Megatron  _ pushed _ Waspinator into it.  You can’t do that! Pushing your teammates into throws has got to be illegal.”

“Go Cheetor,” Optimus added.  “I don’t want this game to take any longer than it must.  We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes,” said Megatron, scooping the ball from the ground.  “I’m sure we will.” In a flash, he had thrown the ball, Optimus as his target.  Optimus only barely dodged the lethal blow. It went on like that for awhile. Rhinox managed to take out Terrorsaur, only to be picked off by Scorponok immediately afterwards.  Optimus and Dinobot both, tried to take out Megatron - Optimus managed to hit Waspinator in the head, while Dinobot’s poor aim netted him Scorponok. Waspinator failed to hit anyone with his throw, but another lucky throw from Dinobot took out Megatron.  The game had to be paused for the mini-breakdown to unfold.

“How dare you?  HOW DARE YOU!?” Megatron roared, with all the might of a T-Rex.

“Is that not how the game is played?” Dinobot retorted, a hint of sadistic glee in his flat voice.

With the loss of Megatron, however, the Predacons’ shot at winning seemed abysmal.  The Maximals still had Rattrap and Dinobot left, both skilled players in their own right.  As for the Predacons, there was Waspinator, whose only real contribution was his ability to get hit in the head, and Tarantulas, who had yet to come into contact with the ball once.

Speaking of . . . 

Where  _ was  _ Tarantulas?  He wasn’t in the ‘out’ corner, he wasn’t on the field, he wasn’t anywhere.  Waspinator wasn’t too thrilled with the prospect of facing down two of the Maximals’ best by himself.  His knees began to tremble, and a soft buzz escaped his mandibles.

“Why universe hate Waspinator?” he squeaked, throwing up his arms in sheer terror of the impending balls to the body.  But they never came.

“What in Unicron’s name is going on here?!”

Oh sweet Primus!  He was saved! The Vok were on the scene now, watching with firm disapproval on their skull-like faces.  Under normal circumstances, this would have been a terrible thing; the Vok were, after all, terrifying in their own right.  But Waspinator feared them less than he feared being bludgeoned by Rattrap and Dinobot, let alone the impending beatdown from Megatron for failing him.  Indeed, Waspinator was perfectly happy where he was.

The rest of the players were less so.

“What is the problem, your Vok-ness?” Megatron asked, showing as much reverence as was possible for the self-centered aft-nugget.  “Surely we have not broken any rules. Dodgeball is specifically allowed in the student handbook.”

“That may be,” the Vok agree, both floating, intangible forms speaking in creepy unison.  Waspinator couldn’t repress a shiver, and he was not the only one, “but this particular venue is reserved only for school-sponsored activities, of which this is not.  Detention for all of you.”

There were mixed reactions to the assignment - protests, groaning, a neutral shrug from Rattrap.  Beneath all of the noise, nobody noticed Waspinator’s tiny buzz of glee. The game was over, and he’d survived it.  He was the winner of the Beast Wars! What a powerful feeling. Detention was annoying, sure, but dodgeball was over.  Now he could slip back into his life of relative obscurity, but with the security that came from being part of Megatron’s one-time inner circle.  What a life!

“This isn’t over, Optimus Primal!”

And with that one, insignificant little sentence, Waspinator’s world came crashing down.   _ No, no, no! _  Megatron didn’t dare say more than that in front of the Vok, least of all while being ushered from the gymnasium to study hall, but he didn’t have to.  The Beast Wars were still on, and so long as they continued, Waspinator was beholden to the whim of this tyrant. Who knew when he would be free from this burden?

Oh well.  It could have been worse.  He could have been  _ Dinobot _ .

That betrayal would not be taken lightly, Waspinator was sure.  And worse, because the team switch-up had resulted in a Predacon defeat (or nearly had, at any rate), there was bound to be further shakeups in the future.  New teammates, perhaps on both sides. More folks to bully him.

It was sure to be an anxiety-inducing time.

Well, if Waspinator had learned anything from today, it was that, unlucky as he was, deep down, the universe really did love him.  He would get through this. He would be fine. If anyone were to come out on top of the Beast Wars, it would be him. 

It wasn’t much of a consolation.


End file.
